


Safe now

by Ricksbowlegs



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Established Relationship, Hurt Rick, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Protective Daryl, Rape Aftermath, Rick Whump, Rickyl Writers' Group, i don't know why i did this, supply run gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ricksbowlegs/pseuds/Ricksbowlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is in trouble and unlike the many other times before, Daryl doesn't make it on time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe now

**Author's Note:**

> New Rickyl fic. Enjoy...or don't. I'm sorry :c
> 
> Unbetad'. All my mistakes. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my characters. I don't make profit from it.

Shivers wrack his body as the cold night air hits him when he steps foot out of the car that barely made it outside the walls to stand on wobbly legs. Daryl is quickly by his side, so quickly Rick tenses in fear. 

_This is Daryl_ , he keeps telling himself. _You’re home now. You’ve made it._

“Gonna take ya to Denise, kay? Ya’ll be nice and safe there. She’ll take a look at ya,” Daryl says in a comforting, hushed tone that does nothing to calm Rick. Not this time.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head from side to side and squeezing his eyes shut. “No.”

Daryl studies him in silence for a moment then nods. Rick sighs in relief, but it quickly banishes as he takes a peek inside the car to see there’s a dark red spot on the passenger seat. Right where he was sitting on. 

_Someone’s gonna see it._

“Kay. I’ll take ya home, then,” the archer says, interrupting his worries. 

With every step he takes as he walks alongside the archer, leaning heavily against the broader body, sharp jolts of blinding pain travel up and down his spine. All the while acutely aware of the sticky, wet spot at the back of his jeans.

The gate opens and Spencer greets them. Daryl leaves him leaning against the gate while he approaches the younger man to speak to him. Rick can’t hear what the archer is telling him but he doesn’t care. He’s far more worried about hiding the bloody spot on his jeans from Spencer and trying to keep a straight face. 

The pain increases by the second and he lets out a tiny grunt. Daryl hears it of course. His hearing far too trained to miss the sound and he’s beside him in an instant.

“It’s alright,” Daryl grunts as he wraps his arm around Rick’s waist again to lead him home.

It’s late. The house is dark. Michonne, Carol and Carl are probably in their rooms and Rick knows for sure they will hear them. They will come out into the living room to greet them and ask them how their run went. And he won’t be able to survive it.

“Don’t―tell them,” he says in a pained whisper. Daryl doesn’t answer but takes him quickly to the nearest bathroom and locks the door behind them.

Rick lets out a sigh of relief.

“Lemme see,” Daryl says and lifts his chin with gentle hands. 

He doesn’t want to see the damage for himself, feeling it is enough for now. His face hurts, his torso hurts, his wrists; his back and hips…and _lower_. 

“Don’t―” he huffs, clawing at Daryl’s hands when the archer attempts to take off his coat. He’d been the one to put his clothes back on in the first place. Why the hell did he want them off again?

“Rick,” Daryl says, gripping his biceps, prompting Rick to look at him. He doesn’t want to look at anyone ever again. “Ya’re safe here,” the older man assures, but Rick can tell his voice is on the verge of breaking. “Not gonna let anyone hurt ya.”

“Too late.”

He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like he blames Daryl. Of course he doesn’t. It was his stupid fault anyway. No one else’s. Those men…they _looked_ bad. His gut told him they were bad. His everything screamed at him to run. To hide. 

_Why did I let them see me?_

Daryl lets out a shaky breath and when he speaks, his voice is broken. “Rick…I’m sorry.”

“s’ not your fault,” Rick says, voice devoid of emotion. 

“We gotta clean yer wounds. We can’t risk infection.”

 _We_. That word soothes him somehow. 

He nods in silence and lets Daryl take care of him. His clothes come off, and with them, the last shred of his dignity. 

“Already saw it, Rick,” Daryl sighs sadly when he attempts at covering himself behind trembling arms. 

The shower starts and Daryl carefully guides him in, under the warm stream. The archer climbs in behind him soon after. The hot water does wonders to his aching, tense muscles and the cold ingrained in his bones. But the scrapes, the cuts, the bruises; they all burn alongside his soul. 

He can feel Daryl’s strong hands ghosting across his back as if afraid to touch him. 

Rick is terrified of being touched. 

_You’re safe. You’re home_ , he lies to himself. 

He’ll never be safe again. Not from those men. Not from the memories. He’ll always see their faces sneering down at him. He’ll always feel their fists, their unwanted touches against his skin. He’ll always feel the enveloping pain as they ripped him apart. Always feel the cruel thrusts inside his torn channel; the burning as they spilled inside him. 

They would always own him. Body and mind.

Rick has to will himself not to bolt out of there when Daryl starts cleaning him, soaping his battered skin with tender care. He has to hold himself against the wall of the shower to steady his shaky legs. And it’s happening all over again. He’s there, standing helpless as those loathsome hands roam his body. 

He wants to scream. 

_This is Daryl. He would never hurt you. He would never force you. He loves you._

Rick repeats the words in his head like a mantra, over and over again. But they’re futile now for something has cracked inside him and it cannot be mended. That last, thin layer of glass keeping his emotions at bay, keeping his mind from spiraling down into insanity. And it all comes pouring down.

He will never be able to be with Daryl again without thinking about those men.

Rick’s legs give out from underneath and he harshly clashes against the shower floor with his knees, breaking their skin. 

“Rick!”

There’re hands holding him, embracing him, constricting him. They are restraining him.

“No!” he screams, the sound ripping out through his throat so harshly it tears at its delicate skin. “Let go off me!”

“Rick!” Daryl screams back, but the sound is too far away and Rick is back at the mercy of those men. He’s back in their arms. And they own him body and soul.

There’s banging suddenly, somewhere. There are voices calling. They’re worried about something. But all he cares about is escaping those men. So he struggles against the arms that hold him down, he cries, he screams and there’s no one to hear him but them. 

But then there’s a gunshot. Two. Three. Three of those men lie dead at his side. The other three prepare for attack. But it’s too late for one of them. His skull gets run through by a bullet as well.

The man on top of him bleeds out as his frantic hand finds a sharp object and plunders his neck with it; the warm, red stream caking his beard and neck.

Then the last of them runs. He tries at least. Someone tackles him to the ground and they’re as good as dead, for Daryl has come to save him like multiple times before. But unlike those many other times, damage has already been done. And it can’t be undone. 

But he’s here. He’s worried. His expression is fierce and twisted in agony as those dark eyes survey the damage done to his body. But he’s here. So he’s safe now. He’s safe.

“Rick, please,” Daryl begs as his arms wrap around his naked, wet form. “It’s me. Yer not with them. Yer home with me. With yer family. N’ those men are dead. They’re dead, Rick. They won’t hurt ya again.”

The words pierce thought his fear-crippled mind and the fog begins to dissolve. That familiar voice is filled with promises of safety. He desperately needs to believe them.

Rick clings to the arms surrounding him as he sobs, Daryl’s arms, and they hold him tighter in their protective embrace while promises of safety continue to be whispered against his ear. 

The water has stopped raining down on them but it’s warm still. And Daryl’s arms are solid around him. 

He’s shivering when the arms pull him up to wrap him in a warm towel and the raw sobbing has subsided to nothing but sporadic sniffs.

Daryl leaves the bathroom at some point and worried voices can be heard from outside. He’s calming them down. Rick is grateful for it.

“Gonna get ya t’ bed now, ‘kay sweetheart?” Daryl says as he reenters the bathroom. Rick just nods. 

When they leave the bathroom, there’s no one around. No one runs into them on their way to their bedroom and Rick is utterly grateful to them. Once in its safety and privacy, Daryl cleans his inner wounds properly and applies an antibiotic ointment to the worst of it. 

"At least ya’ve stopped bleeding", Daryl says as he dresses him for the second time that day, but in comfortable, sleeping clothes this time. And it’s not like hours ago. For Rick knows he’s home. He knows this is Daryl and that those men are dead. 

Daryl helps him lie on the bed and covers him with the blankets, then rounds the bed to lie behind him.

“May I hold ya?” the archer asks in a shy tone and Rick almost smiles. Almost. 

“Won’t be able to sleep if you don’t,” he replies and he’s enveloped once again in Daryl’s protective embrace. 

Rick takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out before closing his eyes. 

The images of those men hunt his dreams, and he’s woken up by his own cries at least three times during the night. But every time he wakes up, Daryl is right there. He’s right there behind him, comforting him and keeping him safe. 

He doesn’t know if it’ll ever be okay again. But one thing he’s sure of. He’s safe now.


End file.
